An Empty Rocking Chair
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: #thinman tag: Sam checks in with Harry Spengler. What he learns surprises him.


**An Empty Rocking Chair**  
K Hanna Korossy

He'd been putting off the call. It wasn't like they were friends with the Ghostfacers—well, just Harry and Ed now—or like he really wanted anything to do with the rift that had opened between the two men. Dean had outright scoffed at the idea of keeping in touch with them, not that Dean's opinion mattered much these days.

But Sam had seen the betrayal in Harry's eyes, had felt the resonance of that pain in himself, and he wanted to know how the guy was managing it. For purely altruistic reasons, of course.

He made the decision and hit Call. Glanced down the street to make sure Dean hadn't cut short his visit to the Lebanon music store. Nope, he was good. Sam stuffed his free hand into his pocket and turned away, shoulders rounded against the early spring breeze.

 _"Go for Harry."_

"Uh, hey, Harry. It's Sam." _Winchester,_ he thought about adding, but he didn't think Spengler knew that many people.

 _"Sam!"_ He was right: there was surprise in Harry's tone, not confusion. _"Hey, how's it going? What—do you guys need help with a case or something? I could—"_

Sam rolled his eyes; sounded like Harry had gotten his self-assurance back, at least. "No, thanks, we're good. I was just, uh, calling to see how you were doing, actually."

There was a murmur of voices in the background.

Sam frowned. "Is that…Ed?"

There was the scratchy sound of movement, and then Harry was back. _"What? Uh, yeah. Ed's here—we're just hanging out. Not really researching or going into the field, you know, but…"_

"Huh." Of all the scenarios he'd imagined—talking Harry off a bridge, out of a carton of Haagen-Dazs, or even just into clean clothes—finding the guys together hadn't even made the cut. "So you guys…made up?" Sam tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.

 _"Um. Sort of?"_ Harry said something in a low tone to Ed, and then there were footsteps and the sound of a door shutting. _"We're hanging out. I'm not saying it's like old times, and I don't think we're gonna be, you know, facing down danger together anymore, but…"_

The corner of Sam's mouth curled. "He's your best friend."

" _Yeah. I mean, don't get me wrong: what Ed did? Blowed, big time. Not sure I can ever forget that, to be honest. But…I kinda get it, too. There was this one time when I was jealous of a car Ed lov—you know what? Never mind. I just…I missed him. More than I was mad at him, I guess. I wanted that rocking chair on the porch back, you know what I mean?"_

"Yeah," Sam said quietly.

 _"But I'm trying to work things out with Dana, too. Just 'cause I forgive Ed doesn't mean I'm not moving on. It's just…better with him than without him. You know?"_

Sam rubbed a hand down his face. "It splits the crappiness."

 _"Yes! Exactly! That's perfect—I'm writing that down."_ From the sound of it, he was, that very moment. _"'Splits…the…crappiness.'"_

Sam nodded, glancing over his shoulder to see Dean backing out of the bakery with a big box in both hands and a bag on top of that. He was grinning at someone: Mrs. Feretti the baker, Sam figured. Great pies were one of the fastest routes to his brother's heart.

Sam turned back to the phone and said quickly, "Okay, well…good luck, both of you."

" _Hey, yeah, back atcha. Hope you and Dean, you know, make up, too."_

Sam drew back in surprise. "Wha—?" But Harry had already disconnected.

He blinked at his phone. Great; even the peanut gallery had picked up on the tension between him and Dean. That was…fantastic. And gave him a surprising twinge.

"No new albums, but Mrs. F made strawberry-rhubarb pie, Sam," Dean spoke up from behind him. As Sam looked up, his grin was only a slightly more muted version than what he'd given the baker. _"Strawberry-rhubarb,"_ he repeated. One of both their favorites.

"I heard," Sam with a small return smile, opening the back door to let Dean carefully nestle the box on the floor.

"Who were you talking to?" Dean asked as he backed up, digging out his keys. He bounced them once in his palm, not quite looking at Sam. Always watching his words these days around his brother, and Sam honestly didn't know anymore if that made him more annoyed or sad.

Sam thought for a second about dissembling as he opened his door, but he was so fed up with secrets, and this would've been a stupid one to keep. "Uh, Harry."

"Oh?" Dean stopped in his open door, looking at Sam over the hood of the car like he had a million times before. There were new lines in his face, Sam noticed, a harder set to his jaw. He kept his right arm—the one with that ominous Mark—close to his body. "He okay?"

"Yeah, actually." Sam huffed a laugh. "He and Ed are 'hanging out.'"

Dean's eyebrows rose; he was surprised, too.

Sam shrugged. "I think he just got lonely."

He didn't mean anything by it, hadn't even really thought before he spoke. But he saw Dean's tiny flinch at the words, such a small reaction that no one else would have seen it. Only someone who knew him as well as Sam did. Which meant only Sam.

Sam tapped his fingers on the Impala's warm metal and opened his mouth to say…something.

"Pie's calling, Sammy," Dean said instead, sounding cheerful. But as he slid into the car, his grin was gone.

Sam stood there a moment longer, feeling a strange loss. _I missed him. More than I was mad at him._

"You coming?" Dean called from within.

 _It's just better with him than without him._

Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah." He got in.

But he couldn't stop turning Harry's words over, even as he went back that evening and got two more pies from Mrs. Feretti.

 **The End**


End file.
